“I hate fresh starts!” I yell as I move the last box upstairs, directing my words at no one in particular.
All the other boxes that I won’t even bother unpacking are already piled up in the small bedroom. I place the last one on top of the stack and exit the room, heading for the front door without even checking out the rest of the apartment that is supposed to serve as my new home–it doesn’t matter if it’s nice or ugly–whether I like it or not, it won’t be long until I have to move again anyway.
One more fresh start–third or fifth this year, I lost count–another new chapter, an empty page that I want to fill with my story but I’m not allowed to.
Every word, every possible chance at a happy ending–or any ending–will be erased with another brand new beginning before I even reach the middle of the page.
This is my response to this week’s FSF prompt. Any kind of feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!